McGambler
by OneShotSal
Summary: Tim has recently developed a gambling addiction and tries to keep it from Gibbs. This works out about as well as you'd expect. Things get serious before he finally seeks Gibbs's help. Gibbs/McGee father/son.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: If you enjoy this fic, please consider me as a beta reader for your next fic. I'm a professional proofreader IRL :D

* * *

Tony and Ziva had already gone home when Tim started packing up to leave for the day.

It was Friday, and he'd been dreading this day all week. He had $2000 left in the bank and needed to turn it into $30,000 by midnight. If he couldn't, he didn't want to think about what the loan shark would do to him. But he was positive he could win it back this time. He'd done his research, and knew exactly who to bet on.

He _had_ to win this time.

* * *

Gibbs had had his eye on Tim for nearly two months, since shortly after Tim had won $4000 at the race track on a just-for-fun outing with Tony. After his big win, a subtle change had come over him, becoming more and more noticeable, at least to Gibbs. He seemed stressed out, sometimes losing focus during the day. More than once, he'd come to work looking like he hadn't slept, and then would take an extra long lunch break. Twice, Gibbs had confronted him about it in private, but Tim always brushed him off with an apology and a flimsy excuse for his behavior. Gibbs had his suspicions, but he couldn't force Tim's confidence. So he had watched him from a distance, hoping that the problem wasn't what it appeared to be.

Today, however, he couldn't keep his distance any longer. Tim was definitely showing the classic signs of a gambling addiction. And right now, as Tim was preparing to go home, he looked more desperate than Gibbs had seen him yet. Knowing how badly things could end up if he was right, Gibbs couldn't let his agent leave without first trying to talk some sense into him.

As Tim stood up to put on his jacket, Gibbs spoke.

"Think you can win it all back in one night?"

There was no need for Tim to answer; his blanched face and averted gaze told Gibbs that all his suspicions were correct.

But even though he was caught, Tim wasn't ready to admit defeat. He tried, unsuccessfully, to look confused. With zero confidence, he asked, "Whaddya mean, Boss? Win what back?"

"Cut the crap," Gibbs answered. He got up and approached Tim so that the few remaining agents dotting the bullpen wouldn't overhear. "You've been gambling. Ever since that time you went with Tony." He put a hand on his agent's shoulder and asked softly, "You getting in over your head?"

Tim didn't answer, but his guilty face did the talking for him.

Gibbs returned to his desk and picked up his coat. He nodded toward the elevator. "C'mon. I got a better way to spend the evening. Finally gonna fix up the truck in my backyard, get it running again."

But Tim had recovered slightly from the shock of Gibbs uncovering his secret, and he had an adamant look in his eye. He squared his shoulders and said coldly, "No thanks, boss. I'm good," and turned to walk away.

Gibbs arched an eyebrow. He could see his agent would need a tougher response. "Wasn't asking," he replied.

But to his surprise, Tim grew even more defiant. "I said no. Look, you might be my boss at work, but you're not the boss of my life, OK?"

Gibbs's expression softened. "I'm not speaking to you as your boss, Tim. I'm speaking to you as your friend."

His words appeared to weaken the young agent's resolve. Tim's shoulders sagged and he rubbed a hand across his eyes. But then something seemed to occur to him, and that hard gleam returned to his eye. Finally, he straightened up, looked his boss in the eye, and said, "I appreciate your concern. But it's none of your business. See you Monday," and he headed to the elevator.

"McGee," called Gibbs as the elevator door slid open. Tim half turned. "My door's always open."

Tim hesitated a second longer, but then entered the elevator.

* * *

He waited in line at the betting counter, mentally kicking himself for what he was about to do. But he was in way too deep to stop now.

After maxing out his credit cards, he'd made the reckless decision to see a loan shark to pay off the debt and salvage his credit. But at the last minute, he had gambled it on a long-shot in a desperate attempt to win enough to pay off his credit cards and the loan shark in one go. Instead, he had lost nearly all of the money on a single bet. Now his credit was ruined and he had until midnight tonight to repay the loan.

He couldn't believe he had gotten into such a mess. He had done so well that first time, betting a little money with Tony for fun and coming out $4000 ahead. Then he had lost everything just trying to replicate that euphoric feeling. If there was another way out of this predicament, he didn't see it. He _had_ to win enough to pay back the loan shark today. He knew what happened to people who were late paying up.

He closed his eyes and saw Gibbs's kind face, trying to talk sense into him. There was no way he could admit to his boss what he had done. Then again, he reminded himself, Gibbs had helped the whole team with various personal problems from time to time. Maybe he could help with this one, too. But none of those problems had been nearly as bad as this. No. Tim couldn't bear to see the disappointment written all over his boss's face if he found out the whole truth. If Tim could just win this one last race…

It was his turn in line. As if on autopilot, he walked up to the counter. In a robotic voice that he hardly recognized as his own, he made his bet. "Race five, one thousand, box exacta on one and five." His hand shook slightly as he handed over the cash.

* * *

His whole body was shaking as he left the stadium after losing the bet. He could barely think straight. All he wanted was to get to his car and get home to safety so he could figure out what to do.

He made it halfway to his car before he was stopped in his tracks by two middle-aged men, one clean-cut and sharp-looking, the other burly and grizzled. The loan shark and his 'assistant'. How had they known he'd be here?

"Hey there, Mr. McGee," he said in a too-friendly voice. "Only a few hours left. You gonna have what you owe me?"

"Look…I don't have it yet," Tim began, his voice cracking, "but I'll have it tomorrow for sure. I promise."

"Ooooh, tomorrow. 'Fraid that won't work. We agreed on tonight, and tonight's almost over."

Tim started pleading. "Please. I swear…I'm on my way to get it right now. I'll have it tomorrow. I'll have it tomorrow. Please." His voice had dropped to a whisper.

The other man considered Tim's words. "Tomorrow by noon?"

"Yes, absolutely!" said Tim. "We can meet right here, at noon exactly. I'll bring every penny. I swear."

The man paused and gave Tim a long, calculating look, then relented. "You seem like a reasonable guy. I know you won't be late again. Tomorrow at noon then, right here. Shake on it."

Tim almost fainted with relief. He reached out to grasp the lender's extended hand.

But instead of shaking Tim's hand, the loan shark grabbed his wrist tightly and wrapped a fist around Tim's right pinky finger. Tim didn't have any time to react before he heard, and then felt, the dull _snap_.

An involuntary yelp escaped him and he staggered back in shock, staring at his broken finger and feeling a wave of nausea wash over him. It took all his strength not to fall to his knees and vomit from the sudden pain.

The loan shark was as calm as ever. "I never change an agreement for free, Mr. McGee. Your finger is the price for a twelve-hour deferral. If you're not here tomorrow at noon, your arm will be next. Then it'll be your face. Don't forget, I know where you live. Don't screw up again."

He and his assistant walked away without waiting for Tim to answer.

Tim hurried to his car and got inside, locking the door. He stared at his mangled finger, which was throbbing almost unbearably. "Oh God, what the hell am I going to do?" he moaned to himself. He'd need to go to the hospital now. _And_ still come up with all that money by tomorrow. He took a deep breath and tried to think.

The money was the most important thing at the moment, he knew. What good would it be to get his finger treated now if his arm would be next, in about sixteen hours?

He banged the back of his head on his headrest and gritted his teeth to suppress the urge to scream. He felt utterly destroyed. He could see only one way out now. He would have to go to his boss and confess everything. Gibbs was the only person he could turn to in a situation like this. He'd know what to do. Tim was in danger, and he badly needed help.

Finally, he could admit to himself that he needed help. Why had it taken him so damned long to admit it? He was disgusted with himself for being such a classic fool.

His finger felt on fire, but the hospital could wait a couple hours. He had an urgent detour to make. Trying to ignore both the pain and the fact that once his boss heard his pathetic story, today would most certainly be his last day as an agent on Team Gibbs, Tim awkwardly craned his left hand around the steering wheel and started his car.

* * *

Gibbs had finished working on his truck for the evening and had retired to the basement to complete the final touches on his boat. He heard a car pull into the driveway and breathed a sigh of relief. Tim had changed his mind at last. He had been worried that his youngest agent wouldn't see reason until it was too late.

He was sanding the bow of the boat in long, even strokes when the basement door opened. As usual, instead of acknowledging his visitor's presence, he focused on his work and waited for the other to speak first.

"Boss?"

Gibbs looked up in alarm at the distressed note in his agent's voice, and his stomach sank. Tim was framed in the doorway, cradling his right hand against his chest. Gibbs could see the redness and the odd angle of Tim's finger from where he was standing.

"Jesus, McGee," he said, dropping the sandpaper and ascending the steps two at a time. He took one look at the broken finger and Tim's defeated, ashamed expression, and deduced what had happened. He silently berated himself for not trusting his gut, not trying harder to keep Tim away from the track tonight. If he had known there was a Shylock involved, he would have _made_ his agent listen to him. Without a word, he gently steered Tim toward the dining room table while Tim, struggling to control the emotion in his voice, stammered an explanation.

"I didn't mean for it to go this far. I...it was supposed to be fun. It was always fun for Tony. But I kept losing, and when I couldn't pay my credit card bill, I had to borrow money, and…" He broke off, unable to continue.

"It's OK, Tim. Deep breaths. We'll figure it out." Gibbs guided Tim into a seat at the table and sat down in the chair to his right. "Let's see the damage," he said, indicating Tim's hand.

Tim hesitated, suddenly seeming embarrassed to show his boss what his foolishness had led to. He put his hand in his lap and couldn't meet his boss's eye. "It's nothing to worry about. I'm going to get it looked at as soon as I leave here."

Gibbs fixed him with a flat, measured look and held out his own hand expectantly. Under the weight of his gaze, Tim acquiesced and extended his injured hand for Gibbs to examine.

"Hm. Simple fracture," he said, turning Tim's hand over to get a better look. "Looks like a clean break. It'll heal alright, but it needs to be set."

"I was on my way to the hospital, but I needed to stop here first. I had to tell you. I'm in real trouble, Boss. I have until noon tomorrow to come up with thirty thousand dollars. He said my arm would be next."

Gibbs was still holding Tim's hand in his own. The figure that Tim had just stated was surprising and dismaying, but he pushed it out of his mind and opted to focus on the problem in front of him first. "It's Friday night. If you go to the emergency room now, you'll be lucky to get out by noon tomorrow."

Tim's face fell. "God, you're right. I didn't think of that. But I'll have to take the chance, won't I? I can't run around with a broken finger trying to scrape up thirty thousand dollars. What else can I do?"

"You can brace yourself."

"What do you mea– _Ah!"_ Tim cried out and then gasped in pain as Gibbs, who'd seen many similar injuries in the field as a Marine, gently gripped the tip of Tim's broken finger and began to set the bone. Tim instinctively tried to pull away, but Gibbs kept tight hold of his wrist with his other hand. "Don't move, or it'll just hurt more. This'll only take a second." Ignoring Tim's hiss of pain, Gibbs gently pulled the end of his finger away from the hand so the fractured ends were separated and the finger was straightened. Then he slowly released it to let the bone settle back in its proper place.

When he finished, he stood up. "Don't move that hand." He went to the basement and returned a moment later with some duct tape and two small pieces of discarded wood which would make a decent finger splint.

Tim was still wincing in pain.

"Hanging in there?" asked Gibbs.

"Yes, but that _really_ hurt."

Gibbs was unperturbed. "Told you to brace yourself." He sat down and tore a few strips of tape from the roll. "Hospital would've done exactly the same thing, after a twelve-hour wait. Hold still."

Tim screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip against the pain, but remained still as Gibbs aligned the splints and wrapped two thin strips of duct tape around them, then used a third strip to bind the fractured finger to the one next to it.

When he was done, he disappeared again and returned with a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water, which he set in front of his agent.

"Thanks, Boss," said Tim meekly. He took a sip of water but didn't pick up the pill bottle. "I don't deserve pain relief," he muttered.

Gibbs scoffed. "Quit feeling sorry for yourself and take the damned pill, McGee."

Tim's expression remained unconvinced, but he knew better than to disobey that tone in his boss's voice, so he did as he was told.

"Alright, then," said Gibbs. "One crisis down. Now we can tackle the next one."

"What am I going to do?" moaned Tim. "Thirty thousand dollars by noon tomorrow? It's impossible."

"You should have the guy arrested for assault. Doesn't matter that you owed him money, he had no right to injure you."

"I can't do that. For one thing, he has friends who would probably hurt me even more if I did something like that. For another, I can't press charges against this guy. Everyone I know would find out what happened, and why. It would be beyond humiliating. They'd never look at me the same way." He sighed. "I can't let this get out. It's bad enough that I had to tell you. I don't want anyone else to know."

Gibbs pondered in silence for a moment before the obvious solution occurred to him. But Tim definitely wasn't going to like it.

"Your car's gotta be worth nearly thirty thousand."

Tim blanched. "Oh God. My Porsche. I didn't even think of that."

"You didn't _want_ to think of it," retorted Gibbs. "You got no choice now."

"My car…" groaned Tim.

Gibbs was losing patience. "It's your Porsche or your arm. Take your pick."

Tim closed his eyes and hung his head. "You're right," he said finally. "But I've had it for a few years. I'm not sure I could get that much for it now. Maybe twenty or twenty-two thousand. But my savings are gone, my credit is ruined. I have no way to get the rest. God, how did I screw up this badly?"

"Hey. I said stop feeling sorry for yourself," said Gibbs. "Just breathe, and focus on the solution to the problem, not the cause."

Tim took a deep breath, which seemed to calm him. He thought a little longer. "I suppose I could sell my servers and my gaming PC. That might get a couple thousand. Though I'll have to sell them at a big discount if I want to move them before noon." His voice cracked as he continued: "There's also the pocket watch my grandfather gave me…"

Gibbs held up a hand to stop him. A fancy car was one thing, but he couldn't watch his youngest agent pay so dearly for his mistake that he'd be forced to sell a family heirloom. Another solution had just occurred to him, which, he realized with satisfaction, would help both Tim and himself. "Don't sell your computers or your watch. I'll loan you what the car doesn't cover."

Tim's head snapped up and he looked at his boss, wide-eyed. He started to stammer, "Oh. No, Boss, I couldn't possibly borrow money from you. With my credit cards to pay off still, I don't even know when I'd be able to _start_ paying you back. No, I appreciate the offer, but I'm sure I can figure out another way."

"If you want to solve this problem without police involvement, there is no other way. You can't realistically sell enough of your belongings by noon tomorrow." Gibbs looked his agent in the eye and held his gaze. "I won't risk you getting hurt again, McGee. So here's what's gonna happen: In the morning, we're taking your car to a used car dealership. I know the owner of one in Bethesda. He'll give you a fair price. Then we'll hit the bank and I'll take out the rest. You'll pay back your loan, and then you'll never gamble another penny for the rest of your life. And you're gonna promise me that if you ever feel tempted, you'll come to me. Anytime, day or night. I'm gonna check in with you sometimes to make sure you're holding up your end, and I can tell when you're lying, Tim. And if you do, then _I'll_ break your arm myself. That clear?" He knew his words were harsh, but he needed to impress upon his young agent just how much he cared for him.

Tim's eyes glistened with tears as he listened to his boss talk. He felt a mixture of relief that the problem that had plagued him for weeks was solved, and overwhelming gratitude at how far his boss was willing to go to help. His throat tightened. He nodded, and said in a constricted voice, "Yes, Boss. I swear, this'll never happen again, ever. God, I can't thank you enough for helping me like this. I don't know what I would have done… I really appreciate it. And I promise, as soon as my credit cards are paid off, I'll use all my paychecks to pay you back every dime. Plus interest."

Gibbs shook his head. "I'm not interested in your paychecks." At Tim's quizzical look, he added, "Oh, you'll pay me back. But not in cash. You can pay me back right here." He nodded toward the basement door. "I'm almost done the boat. Next project's gonna be pretty big. I could use some help. So, you'll come here, and you'll help. Sometimes in the evening, sometimes on weekends, or any other time I ask you to. And you'll work until I decide that your debt's paid off."

Tim couldn't believe his ears. He had come to his boss out of sheer desperation, unsure of whether Gibbs would really be able to help, but quite convinced that either way, he'd be dismissed from Gibbs's team afterward without a second thought. So to hear Gibbs speaking like this…it was almost too much.

He struggled to compose himself, then said in a trembling voice, "Even after everything I've done. Gambling myself to financial ruin. Lying to you about it. Getting in trouble with criminals and having to borrow money from you…and being so rude to you today when you just wanted to help. You still…want me around?" His breath hitched in his throat. "You still want to have anything to do with me?"

Gibbs was torn between sympathy and irritation toward his agent for even thinking such a thing.

"Aw, hell, McGee. Yeah, you messed up. What you did was stupid. But you think I'd just write you off for being human? For falling into the same trap that thousands of good people have fallen into before you? Now that's _really_ stupid. Listen to me carefully, Tim. As far as I'm concerned, you're family. I don't get rid of family that easily. So get that thought right out of your head before I knock it out."

Tim could no longer contain himself. He bowed his head and covered his eyes with his good hand, and began silently sobbing. He tried to mumble his thanks, but couldn't get the words out.

Gibbs stood up and grasped his agent by the shoulders, pulling him to his feet. "C'mere," he said, embracing him. Tim leaned against his boss's shoulder and let out all of the misery he'd been holding in for the previous six weeks.

* * *

The following Monday, Tim was the first to arrive in the bullpen. He had gotten a ride from Jimmy, who was an early riser. Jimmy had been more than happy to give him a lift, and thankfully, wasn't the type to ask questions about bandaged fingers or the whereabouts of his colleague's Porsche.

Tim's left shoulder was killing him from the previous day's long hours spent in his boss's basement. His right hand hadn't been much use, so he'd overcompensated with his left. Gibbs had worked him hard, with little concern for the added difficulty caused by his injured hand. He knew it was supposed to be a punishment of sorts, but aside from the physical aches and pains, it really didn't feel like it. He'd gotten to spend the whole day in the company of the man he respected more than anyone, and he had many more such days to look forward to in the coming months. Yes, if there was one positive outcome from his whole unhappy ordeal, it was that it had brought him closer to his boss. And he'd been so terrified that it would damage their friendship beyond repair.

Gibbs arrived a short while later, before the rest of the team.

"Had a feeling you'd be here early," he said. "Got something for you." He took out a small box and placed it on Tim's desk. "It'll be useful until you can afford to get a new car."

Tim stared at the box. It was exactly the right size for a set of car keys. He knew that Gibbs had been working on his old truck recently. Had he gotten it running? And was now loaning it to Tim so he wouldn't have to carpool or taxi to work? He could hardly believe his good fortune.

He looked at Gibbs in astonishment and picked up the box. "Are you serious? Boss, you shouldn't have. You're letting me use…" He opened the box and removed the contents. "…a…six-month bus pass. Thank you!" He forced himself to keep smiling, but Gibbs had clearly understood what Tim had been expecting. In fact, Tim suspected that his boss had intended him to misunderstand it that way.

Gibbs's eyes danced with amusement. "Don't mention it. You deserve it."

"Morning!" called Ziva as she entered the bullpen, followed closely by a groggy Tony.

Gibbs nodded good morning to his agents and returned to his desk. He sat down and caught Tim's eye one last time, giving him a faint smile before logging in to his computer.

Tim smiled back and returned to work, his heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.


End file.
